


Together We Stand

by xXxVioletSkyxXx



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Canon Compliant, Extended Scenes, F/M, Friendship, Romance, Vignettes, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:57:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxVioletSkyxXx/pseuds/xXxVioletSkyxXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the moments in-between, for the coffee dates and hospital visits and the missions not big enough for recognition. For the minutes, seconds and hours of existence are life for the Avengers, and they were human before they were heroes. The story of love lost and found, friendships built and strengthened and saving the world; the smaller stories within the greater story of the MCU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

November, 2015

…

Bucky Barnes was incapable of making decisions.

He didn't know how to make one, the Winter Soldier had no need to; his superiors made all his decisions for him, it was his job to follow orders. It was his duty to not as questions and to follow blindly, to shoot without thinking and pull the trigger without ever looking back.

Bucky had once prized himself on his suave nature, on his cool personality and quick humour. He had been the image of the proper man back in '43, before Steve became Captain America and he himself had been captured by HYDRA and experimented on by Arnim Zola. Back in the times when he had need to make a proper decision for himself, but he had spent seventy years as the Winter Soldier and old habits die hard.

So when Steve asked if he'd like a hot shower or a cold one, he didn't know what to say. He was grimy from a mission, blood and dirt was caked into every crevice of his body. He hadn't shaved in a while, and his hair was beyond dirty, indeed it would've been easier to just cut it off. So when they returned, Steve had practically shoved him into his flat's high tech bathroom at Stark Tower, as if bathing was of the upmost importance, before debriefing or eating or being assigned a new assignment.

It wasn't, Steve didn't understand. Bucky would wash if Steve told him to, because he was his superior and even eight months after he'd been liberated, Bucky Barnes couldn't function without orders.

Steve had shown him how the shower worked, which tap controlled the hot and the cold, passed him a towel and dropped clean clothes onto the countertop. Bucky stared around blankly, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt because he didn't know what else to do.

"Here, I'll just turn it on for you," Steve had said. "Hot or cold?"

"It's irrelevant," he remembered saying, shaking his head. "Water is water."

"Which would you like more?"

"I-I," Bucky said, his heart rate rising. He didn't know, he couldn't comprehend questions any longer. Which was it? He had no idea what to choose. He could feel the panic start to rise in him, a terribly hot feeling that he couldn't ignore. He had to make it quickly. Bucky could feel sweat dripping down his shoulder blades, and he shook silently in front of his best friend, who had no idea what to say in response.

After a minute or two, Steve took him by the shoulders and smiled gently at him.

"Hot it is," he said, turning the tap. Steam filled the room, and the sound of rushing water grew. "I'll be in the next room. If you need anything at all, yell; I'll come and get you."

The door shut with a click, but Bucky knew his orders. He turned and stripped himself of his clothes and threw them into the chute Steve had shown him earlier.

A hot shower would be nice, Bucky thought to himself, and stepped into the spray.

Bucky closed the glass door and when he turned, water tumbled through his dank and greasy hair. Dirty water pooled around his feet before slipping into the drain, brown and black and red: the colours of dirt and rubble and blood. It had been his first time in the battlefield not as the Winter Soldier, but as Bucky Barnes. For some reason, Steve thought it would be safer to bring him into combat than to leave him behind, something he had agreed to even though he hadn't understood.

Bucky was known to panic when Steve was out of sight, even when he was in the next room. He had been known to threaten anyone and take hostages if he had the slightest inclination that Steve was in danger. So he was never told. He was kept in Steve's floor of the Tower at all times. Tony knew that the whole world was looking for him, so Bucky hadn't been authorized to leave the tower until a month before, and only then under the strict supervision of Steve and the new kid Sam, Tony and Nat keeping watch from above. They knew he couldn't be trusted. They knew that the Winter Soldier was the biggest security threat other than the Hulk and that letting him into the Tower could be disastrous to them all. But they also knew that he was just a man, and he was Steve's best friend. Even Tony couldn't resist the look in Steve's eyes when he asked for refugee.

Steve came back to New York after what had happened in D.C, mainly because he knew he knew he had an entire floor to himself at Stark Tower, but also due to the fact that going to D.C in the first place had been a dead end. Peggy would never be twenty-three again, and waiting by her bedside hoping for her to remember him was too much to bear.

So he came back to New York, to someplace he understood. He brought his motorbike and his records and his books, and once his affairs were tied up, said goodbye to Peggy Carter and brought Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes back with him to Brooklyn.

Compared to Sam, the rest of the Avengers didn't know what to make of Bucky. He was a murderer, he had shot Nat and almost murdered Steve six months before. They didn't understand why Steve had defied direct orders and stayed by his side anyways. But even then, the Avengers trusted Steve, he was steadfast and honest and strong, and if Bucky was the one bright point in his messed up life, then they weren't going to argue with him.

It was late when they got back, just after three in the morning. Tony had met Steve and Sam at the airport, sedated Bucky and drove them back to the Tower in case he started to remember and tried to take them all out again.

Once they reached Steve's floor, Clint was already there, a stack of pop tarts and a half gallon of coffee at his elbow, perched on top of the fridge.

"Who the hell is that?" Clint asked, his eyes following the unconscious man in Steve's arms.

"The Winter Soldier," Tony said, shutting the door behind him. "Knocked out by yours truly. You're welcome."

"Tony," Steve said, and then faced Clint. "He's my best friend. He's sleeping on my floor under maximum surveillance. If anything happens, I'll be the first one to sedate him. Okay?"

"It's your funeral," Clint said.

Understandably, it had gone over just as well with the other Avengers. Nat knew who he was, was wary but understood what Bucky meant to Steve, and knew better than the rest to let the subject drop. Banner hadn't known, he never had the access to SHIELD files like Nat had, but when Steve had explained who he was and what was going on, Bruce was the one who volunteered to help Tony with Bucky's rehabilitation.

"No need to thank me yet," Bruce had said to Steve with a quiet smile. "I don't know if he can be fixed. But we'll try. His bionic arm has to be removed, that's for sure. It could be infected or have some sort of poison in it in case he went against orders. Tony's gonna scan the arm for tracers, just to watch our backs. The last thing we need is HYRDRA figuring out that Barnes is here."

"Smart," Steve said, "Thanks, Bruce. You have no idea how much this means to me."

…

Bucky spent all of his time on Steve's floor, mostly sleeping, and always nightmaring.

It was usually the torture.

He didn't want to remember it, he didn't want to remember all the people the Winter Soldier had killed. He didn't want to think about the families he'd broken and the lives he'd taken. It was a hard enough pill to swallow even when he remembered the whole story, which was rare.

He also spent a good deal of time screaming. He'd yell until his throat was hoarse and his tongue dry. He'd scream because the only emotion he'd felt for so long was rage and didn't know how to experience anything else. So everyday was spent in anger and frustration over his missing memories, his stolen time.

Steve said he understood but he didn't. He didn't know what it was to be remade, to be broken and stitched back together again over and over again for seventy years. No one knew what that was like. He was completely alone.

They also assigned him a therapist, an old employee of Stark that Tony trusted more than anybody at SHIELD. That man tried and failed to get Bucky to open up, to expose his feelings of anger and terror and rage, but he couldn't. The only person who could get Bucky to talk was Steve, so he talked to him instead.

His therapist didn't know what to think and diagnosed him with everything: PTSD, severe anxiety, dementia and amnesia. She had given him enough pills to last him a lifetime, wrote him a prescription that Bucky had never read.

He didn't need medicine or therapy or help sessions. He needed to be off the terrorist watch list, and he needed to be with Steve Rogers.

There were two types of soap in the shower, one white bar and one green. He had no idea which one to choose (soap was soap, right?), but after a closer examination, the white one smelled vaguely like coconut; an exotic smell that was foreign and uncomfortable to him, whereas the green one smelled like cologne, fresh and sharp. It reminded him of his father's aftershave, an old memory he hadn't remembered before.

He picked it up and ran the bar through his hair until the water ran clear, rubbed it over his arms and chest and back, through the matted hair and blood and wounds. He washed each leg, each foot, and made sure to even get around his toes. The dirty water pooled around his feet, and he washed until the water ran clear.

Bucky couldn't stand being dirty for one more second, he smelled like a murderer and the very thought sent chills up his spine. He didn't want to be the Winter Soldier any longer. He didn't know if he was Bucky Barnes anymore, but he wasn't a killed. He was just following orders, they didn't understand, he didn't remember what had happened, how many people he had killed. They had wiped his memory and tortured him for seventy years too. He was a weapon, and he was out of control. He had been out of cryofreeze for too long.

The steam did wonders for his head, it cleared his thoughts and made his purpose going forward clear. He would follow Steve Rogers (the man from the bridge, the skinny kid from Brooklyn) to the end of the earth. He'd go with him 'till the end of the line because Steve had already done the same for him. He had given him a home when the rest of the world wanted him dead. He had fed him and clothed him and made sure he ate and showered because thats what best friends do. They look out for one another other when they forget to do it themselves.

It had once been Bucky's job to watch after Steve, to keep him warm through the cold New York nights, to pull him out of fights, to keep him out of the army. Now the roles were reversed and Steve was watching out for him.

Bucky would follow him anywhere, do anything. Steve had given him a safe place to sleep when the whole world wanted to kill him. Steve was the one who kept most of the facts about his past from the rest of the Avengers, the one who told him to shower and to eat and the sleep because he couldn't function without orders after being HYDRA for so long.

He knew that Steve didn't like it. He knew that giving orders reminded him of the army and he couldn't bear to order his best friend around.

"He's not a dog," he remembered Steve saying to Tony. "He's a human being, he can make decisions for himself."

"Can he?" Tony had replied, looking Steve in the eye. "When was the last time that guy showered without you telling him to?"

"He can do it himself, you'll see."

"I know, but for now, he needs orders. It's all he knows."

Steve sighed, and Tony ran a hand through his hair.

"You know this guy might never be your best friend again right? Bucky Barnes might be gone. This might not be the guy you knew any longer."

"He'll get there, Tony. Just give him time."

Bucky didn't know if he'd ever get there. Everyday decision making left him anxious and confused, the options swirling around in his head until he couldn't even comprehend what they meant anymore. If he couldn't choose between hot and cold showers how could he be trusted in the field? How could he be trusted to not hurt Steve's friends in the Tower? How could he be trusted when his whole body was a weapon?

How would he know who the enemy was?

Steve was his anchor, he was the only thing he had to fall back on. Steve was one of the last things from the forties that he had gotten back and he was desperate not to mess it up. If he lost Steve again he would never forgive himself.

So perhaps the Winter Solider was dead, Bucky thought, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. Perhaps Bucky Barnes was still in there somewhere, anxious to get out and be free.

Maybe one day he would be just a ghost story, the infamous Winter Soldier no one was sure had really existed or not. Perhaps one day he'd look back on this day and see how far he'd come. Bucky had lost almost everything. He had lost his arm, his best friend and his life in less than four minutes seventy-one years ago. He had been forced to bury his hate, his fears, his anxieties over Steve's death, the loss of his life and his family when he had become the Winter Solider and now that he was just Bucky once again, he wasn't really sure who that was anymore.

Maybe he'd never be fully okay. Maybe he'd never be able to choose between while soap and green soap or notice when he's hungry. But he had Steve, even when he had no one he had had Steve, and he would do anything to keep him in his life. Bucky wouldn't be able to stand it if he lost his best friend twice.

"Alright, Buck?" said a voice from behind the door.

Bucky smiled and threw on a shirt and pants.

Better now, Bucky thought with the semblance of a smile, and cracked open the door.


	2. Saturn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve never fell into the ice that night in 1944. The plane never crashed into the arctic and he was never frozen in the ocean.   
> He survived. And when he did, he made it back to Peggy in this strange life after the war.

September, 1946  
…   
The war is over.   
It seems redundant to reiterate, because although it was true, it had already been the case for a significant amount of time. But still people say it, the war is over, because it had been over for nearly twelve months. It had been almost a year since the Atomic bombs had dropped on Japan and the world was at peace once again.   
It threw a loop into things, for months all people could talk about was the end of the war, the end to fascism and Hitler and Nazi Germany. The end of an era, people were saying, it was the war to end all wars. And hopefully the world had learned their lesson and could persist in this peace so it could last an age.   
It seemed like a lifetime ago, but then again, she supposed, maybe it had been. Life wasn’t the same in war, especially when one held a profession such as hers.   
Peggy Carter missed her uniform. She missed the authority it gave her, the respect she received when wearing it. She missed the thick, sturdy fabric and the functional pockets, the figure she cut in it was also not to be ignored, at least not by the males under her. It had been familiar and comfortable and safe. It had been what she had put on every morning at five o’clock for five long years.   
She had been forced to relinquish it when she’d been discharged, and to be honest, Peggy was sorry to see it go. While she knew how to dress herself for everyday civilian wear, she hadn’t been made to do it for a long time. She missed her work, not the office duties or the answering telephones bit, but the field work; working with soldiers and doing something worthwhile and productive. If Peggy Carter liked anything it was being useful.   
But the war was over, and since it was a new age, in all, she supposed it was time to move on with her life.   
If she had been a man, she would have been given a title when she had been discharged, made to train new recruits for the army like she always had even the war was indeed over. Or perhaps she would have worked for an agency, for the OSS or even continued her work in the SSR, given a desk job and a comfortable salary, war stories to tell for the rest of her life. Maybe she would have moved back to England.   
Had she been a man, she would have had options, a future in the military or in intelligence, a respectable job and a comfortable life. But due to the unfortunate nature of her sex, she was given two options, marry and have children, or not and induce national scandal.   
It was Steve who suggested it. It wasn’t like the SSR would say no to Captain America, or indeed, even attempt to. He had a commanding personality that made allies rally and enemies scurry. She had always admired that about Steve, but she could fight her own battles. She’d gain their respect her own way and work to make a life for herself in this new world. Peggy would do what she had always done before, reinvent the rules to advance herself, but this time, she’d have Steve by her side.   
So instead of becoming a housewife and putting her skills to waste, she became a field agent, working side by side with him like they all those times before.   
It had gone something like this.   
Once the Red Skull was dead and Steve had control, the plane lost access of one of the engines and lost speed, which gave Peggy and the SSR enough time to gain his coordinates and schedule a landing site just off of Greenland. It had been a rocky landing, but it had been a successful one, and even though they were worried that Steve had fallen unconscious after the initial impact, he remained awake long enough to steer the plane away from danger, coming to a stop meters away from thin ice. Being that as it may, they still had trouble extracting Steve from the wreckage, but he had enough sense to climb out an alternate exit towards the back of the plane to balance the already unsteady situation.   
The bombs destined for America were handled with extreme care, and moments after Steve had been secured, the plane itself tipped into the Atlantic, the Tesseract and all the HYRDA tech along with it.   
Bomb disposal had brought a small plane to recover Steve in, and as soon as he was secured, it took off for America.   
She had had sparse radio contact with the pilot, but it was spotty and ill received. She herself was en route from Europe but she sincerely hoped that she’d be able to meet him there, not only to reprimand him for frightening her, but to ensure for her own sake that he was going to be all right. Peggy had spent the entire flight with her fists clenched, tears of joy stinging in her eyes. Steve was alive, He was going to be okay, she didn’t have to lose him after all.   
Peggy had been waiting when Steve’s plane landed, standing on the tarmac with clenched hands because they had been this close to losing him, and she couldn’t bear to wait any longer. He exited the small plane, still in his Captain America uniform, his circular shield slung across his back. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she steeled her expression. They were in public after all.   
“You’re late,” she said as he walked up to her, maintaining a stiff upper lip even though all she wanted was to fling herself into Steve’s arms and never let him go. He smiled quietly, the same Steve he had always been.  
“Well, I couldn’t leave my best girl,” he replied with a grin.“Not when she owes me a dance.”   
So even though people were watching, even though she knew for certain that Steve was safe and sound, they surged towards one another. Steve took her waist and pulled her tight, and Peggy melted into his embrace. Steve was alive, he was safe and healthy and strong and wasn’t going to die. He would live. They would make it out of the war alive.   
“I was so afraid,” Peggy breathed into his chest, elusive tears falling down her cheeks.   
“I know,” Steve said back, kissing her on the forehead, “I’m so sorry,”   
“I thought I might lose you. I don’t want to let you out of my sight ever again. Do you understand?”   
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said automatically, and Peggy choked out a laugh.   
“And, and fifty push ups,” Peggy continued, wiping tears out of her eyes, the semblance of a smile peaking through her lips.   
“What for?”  
“For scaring me.”   
“I promise never to again, I swear.” Steve said, and tucked her head further into himself, not bothering to hide the tears that slipped down his own cheeks as they held one another on the tarmac.   
…   
They both rejoined the SSR afterwards stationed in New York. Steve still did war films with the Howling Commandos and Peggy still worked with recruits at Camp Lehigh, but when he was home, Steve joined her and fought by her side. They lived in the barracks, ate with the soldiers and relished in the safety it brought them. They had done their duty, their war was finally at its end.   
The war ended a little after a year later, September of 1945. They celebrated in their own way, went to the Stork Club along with the rest of the lovesick couples and taught one another how to dance, and when they got the hang of it, they danced the night away.   
Steve got issued a flat after V-day, a tiny thing in Brooklyn that he could call his own. He moved the stuff out of his old flat and settled into his new life working full-time for the SSR.   
It took some convincing, but Peggy was issued a job very similar to Steve’s; working as an intelligence agent in America. They took missions together, him with his shield, she with a pistol, and became the best until under the agency; known best for infiltration, data extraction and complete efficiency. Together they dismantled HYDRA piece by piece, taking prisoners, infiltrating known bases in Europe and stripping the place of all information. They grew to watch each others six and work as team, knowing inherently the others strengths and weaknesses as to work as efficiently as possible.   
She was given a suit too, though one not quite as extravagant as Steve’s. It was nothing special, black with the standardized manganese steel imbedded in the fabric for protection. She was given gun holsters and comfortable brown leather boots, though she never did abandon the utility of her favourite lipstick and powder.   
They worked together in the field for a few years, until they were sure HYDRA was on the brink of collapse. It was then that they, along with Stark and Colonel Philips, started SHIELD, a peace keeping operative that could be the next generation of the SSR, and raised it from the ground up; the new standard of peace that would last for the next century.   
…  
Steve proposed on her birthday in 1947, after a quiet dinner at his flat. He gave her his mothers ring (a gold band with rubies and pearls) which she accepted with tears in her eyes. They were married in the spring of 1948 at Howard’s mansion in Manhattan, she wearing a hand-me-down wedding dress and he a new suit, and walked down the aisle with rice in their hair and a lifetime ahead of them.   
Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night dreaming about Bucky’s death. Sometimes he found her curled up in the bathroom her fist in her mouth because all she could think about was her brother and how much she missed him. They both spent sleepless nights talking about who they had lost, Bucky, her brother, both of their parents. But they had one another, they had their flat and that was more than others had. He told her that they should be thankful the war had not taken him too.   
Peggy had their first son, Robert, in 1952. Their second, a girl this time, Steve named Sarah after his mother, born two years after her brother. Their third, another little boy, they called Alfred.   
So they were a family.   
Peggy had retired from field work when she discovered that she was pregnant with Robbie, and although she never did quit her work for SHIELD, she began working in the offices, coordinating missions and stockpiling information, the youngest child sleeping in the bassinet behind her desk. They had found peace in their time, learned how to be parents and how to exist in a world without war.   
The war was over. And so it was, and as Steve and Peggy fell into civilian life, grew into their lives at SHIELD they found happiness too. Joy too was a byproduct of peace.   
He still had nightmares of Bucky falling and woke in cold sweat. She still slept with her pistol on her bedside table. The war was over, but the terror remained. There were always going to be threats, always going to be danger and fear and paranoia. But there was also good, also peace and rest and joy.   
A survivors forever is whatever he makes it to be.   
So for them, even though the odds were against them, they found happiness in their marriage, in their children, in their new lives outside of the war. This was peace in their time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite obviously an AU, with a quote taken from CATWS to emphasize the point.   
> I had a conversation the other day about time travel and the MCU. Could Peggy Carter be retrieved from the 1940’s in the modern day? The answer is no, no matter how depressing it may sound. For one thing, Peggy was a big reason as to why they started SHIELD in the first place, and had she not done so, would it had been around in the 21st century? Also, as revealed in Agents of SHIELD, the only reason HYDRA took so long to come back was because they didn’t dare try anything while Peggy was in charge. Had she not been, HYDRA would’ve been in the picture much sooner.   
> So this was my compromise, an AU where Steve landed the plane in Greenland where the bombs headed for America were properly disposed of and Steve ’survived’ and wasn’t frozen in the ice.   
> Likewise, this is also a version of Cap that we haven’t seen since his first movie, a Steve comfortable in his time still madly in love with Peggy Carter and ready to live as Steve Rogers rather than Captain America.   
> So yeah. Next chapter’s going to have to do with another Avenger, probably Thor, so request what you’d like to see.   
> Violet Sky


	3. In the Days of Our Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of two princes raised side by side, unknowing that one is outsider and only the eldest will be made king. While they were raised as equals, it could never be the case for long because one was of Jotunheim and the other of Asgard, and as far as formalities were concerned, they weren't brothers at all.

Asgard, 963 in Midgard years   
…   
Thor was in the nursery when the Allfather brought Loki home.   
Frigga had retrieved him from the nursemaid, and when Asgard’s warriors crossed the Bifrost into the realm, mother and son walked side by side into the throne room to receive the Allfather.   
Thor was a young child himself at the time, not yet old enough to understand the implications of accepting a Frost Giant into the royal family. Thor had been told stories about the vile nature of the giants, and how he would grow to be a warrior himself and take his fathers place as king and defeat the blue monsters once and for all.   
“They’re dangerous, Thor,” Frigga had told him on more than one occasion. “But your father is strong, he will defeat Laufey and retrieve the Tesseract and ensure peace throughout the Nine Realms."  
Odin’s company arrived in the throne room bloodied and few in number, various wounds marring their armour. Frigga started to notice that her husband had not escaped the bloodshed, and that his right eye was hastily covered with a bit of cloth, likely to staunch the blood. However, one warrior carried the Tesseract, held evenly and reverently in his hands and Frigga all but sighed in relief.   
A small bundle was in Odin’s arms, and when the blanket shifted, a small hand emerged, a child’s hand.   
Once Odin’s company had paid him homage and bowed to their king, they continued further into the palace to the feasting hall, which had been prepared in their honour. The warrior carrying the Tesseract walked in the other direction, bound for Odin’s throne room. The Allfather watched him as he turned the corner, an unusual smile on his face.   
Odin stopped in front of his wife, and Frigga dismissed the Einherjar on either side of the throne. Thor shifted restlessly beside his mother, straining to see what was in Odin’s arms.   
The Allfather peeled back the blanket and an infant, fat and frosty from the cold, emerged.   
“The child was abandoned,” Odin said, and Frigga stared back in shock. “He requires a home.” Thor didn’t notice the sideways glance Odin received from Frigga, his eyes and entire being was captured on the child before him.   
“He is to be your brother, Thor.” Odin said, thrusting the child into Frigga’s arms. “Your comrade in arms. You shall be raised as brothers, for your brother this child is.”   
“What shall we name him?” Frigga mused, rocking the child gently in her arms.   
“I have consulted with the Norns,” Odin said. “The child’s name is Loki.”  
“Loki, I want to see Loki,” Thor said, tugging at his mothers arms to show him his new brother.   
“Be gentle, Thor,” Frigga chastised. “The child must be traumatized. Mind your strength.”   
Thor relented and Frigga knelt down, holding the child out to his new brother. The child gurgled and bounced happily in her arms. Thor’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, and he held fast to Loki’s hand.  
“He will be welcomed into the household as if he was our flesh and blood. He will be our son, and Thor, he shall be your brother. You must never treat him any different.”   
“I would like a brother,” Thor said, and grabbed hold of one of Loki’s fingers, marvelling at the small stature of the boy. “He is so small,”   
“You were once too, darling,” Frigga said.   
“Don’t coddle them so, Frigga.”   
Frigga sighed. “He is a child, Allfather, and I am his mother. I have only just received him; and I may coddle as long as I’d like.”   
Odin harrumphed, and stood.   
“I must attend to Asgard’s warriors,” he announced, “Heimdall will see to the defences to ensure the Frost Giants cannot cross our borders. They are wounded, but perhaps not all defeated. But the Tesseract was retrieved from Jotunheim, so perhaps not all was lost.”   
Frigga kissed Odin’s cheek and took Thor’s hand. “Then we must be away as well. Peace be with you, Allfather.”   
“And also with you, good lady.” Odin said, and with a twirl of his cloak, he retreated into the feasting hall.   
“Onwards to the nursery, Thor,” Frigga said, hoisting Loki into a more comfortable position, “I shall tell you a story.”   
“Is it of father?” Thor asked excitedly. He did so love to hear of Odin’s heroic deeds. Frigga smiled, but shook her head.  
“No quite of another sort,” she said, and continued back down the corridor to the personal quarters of the palace. She swung Thor’s hand in her own and marvelled at the sight of Loki sleeping peacefully in her arms. Now there were two, and Frigga was happy. “It is a story of two brothers.”   
…   
Many years passed and the brothers grew. Thor took the appearance of his father, blond and tall and strong, proud and vain at times, despite his young age. Loki however, was slender and small in stature, quiet and thoughtful. Where Thor was strong with his fists and with a war hammer, Loki was powerful with magic, and when he asked, he was taught sorcery side by side with Frigga.   
Both were trained in combat as soon as they were steady on two feet, fighting first with wooden swords and shields before advancing to more dangerous forms of weaponry.   
Odin was pleased with his sons, particularly Thor. He was the eldest, and when Odin stepped down in his old age, Thor would be king. He was strong, and vain but very powerful, the very image of Odin in his youth, and the Allfather was proud to have him as a son.   
Loki, on the other hand, was none of these things. He was not the son that Odin wanted, but he raised him like kin nonetheless, keen to uphold the vow he had made upon Loki’s acceptance into Asgard. Loki served as an important tie to Jotunheim, to have a Laufeyson in the Asgardian royal family would ensure diplomacy for a thousand years. But the boy was a child, a child who thought he was blood relatives to his parents and his brother, and neither Odin nor Frigga ever told him the truth of his lineage, deeming it of ill importance to a child so young.   
Frigga taught her sons about the magic of Yggdrasil and how all the realms were connected by the World Tree. She showed them the stars and the constellations, Nidhogg, the serpent coiled around Yggdrasil’s roots, the great eagle, the many deer that loped through the night skies. She told them bedtime stories and Fenrir the wolf, chained to his island, stories about Ginnungagap and the origins of the world. She told them of the six infinity stones that predated the universe and how they must never be joined to the gauntlet.   
The boys slept together in the nursery for hundreds of years, growing and maturing side by side. From the very beginning, they had been thick as thieves, playing and practicing tactical maneuvers through the halls of Asgard and Frigga was happy.   
She told them tales of the nine realms, but more often told stories of glorious battle, Thor’s favourite subject, or of magic, which was Loki’s.   
But her sons were growing up, and sooner or later, Loki would begin to wonder why he was different, why he was unlike the rest of those on Asgard. Odin and Frigga had swore to never tell him, fearful wedge a gap between her two sons. She wanted them to be happy, she had never seen Loki as a bargaining chip as the Allfather had. Loki was her son, not a good to be squandered and given away.   
As was Frigga’s way, she made a point through her storytelling, inventing tales to her sons to encourage morals and dissuade wrongdoing. Tonight, it was of another case altogether.  
“There was once an Asgardian,” Frigga began, her voice soft, her sons tucked into their bed. “Who had conquered the Nine Realms and seen many places and things. He was tall and strong and mighty with a sword and spear, widely feared by his foes.”   
“Is it father?” Thor asked eagerly, and Frigga shook her head. “The warrior had no name. He was a mighty man, but also proud and vain, and was known by his fellow warriors to be brash in his actions and in his words. While he had strength, he also had a tremendous weakness. While he was powerful in the daylight hours, come nightfall his strength would abandon him and was vulnerable to attack.   
"His brother, on the other hand, was small in stature in weak in combat. Where he did not have brawn, the younger brother substituted wits and cunning, using magic rather than a sword to wound his enemies. While the warriors slept on in the nighttime hours, the younger brother would stand watch over the eldest to protect him from harm.   
“One night, while the warrior was sleeping, a man stole to the warriors bedchamber with the intention of killing him. He was armed with a bow as to be able to kill the warrior from a great distance so the noise would not arouse suspicion from the sleeping warrior and his company. As he nocked an arrow, hidden quite plainly behind a pillar, the warriors younger brother, known for his cunning and magic, cast a spell on the murderer to transfigure him into a rat.”  
“A rat?” Thor exclaimed, and Loki gasped, his eyes wide with excitement.   
“Indeed,” Frigga continued, “but luckily for the sleeping warrior, his life was spared thanks to the cunning magic of his brother.”   
“Am I the brother, mother?” Loki asked.   
Frigga looked down at her youngest son, his dark hair and large intelligent eyes. He was noticeably different from his brother, did not favour a bow or a spear or a sword. He hated armed combat, and loathed the lessons given by the stewards of Asgard meant to train the young princes in combat. Unlike Thor, who had prodigious skill with any weapon put before him, Loki preferred books and knowledge to war and battle tactics. Loki was skilled at magic, like Frigga, and although he wasn’t her blood, she loved him like her own.   
“It is a lesson, Loki, to know your strengths and apply them to the weaknesses of others.”   
“Could my magic help others one day?” Loki asked.   
“Perhaps, but only the Norns know, Loki,” Frigga said gently, and leaned down to kiss her sons foreheads. “May Nótt guard your sleep.”   
“Goodnight, mother.”   
“Goodnight, Thor,” Frigga said, and stood. “Goodnight Loki.”   
“Mother?” Loki asked, sitting up. “Can my magic truly be used to the aid of others?”   
Frigga smiled. “Magic, when used in the best intentions, will always show the truest path. Train hard, know your strengths as well as your weaknesses so as to be of aid to those around you. You will be a great warrior, Loki, but perhaps not in the most traditional of ways. Goodnight, son.”   
“Goodnight, mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of a two part arc chronicling the Loki and Thor's childhood on Asgard, all the way up to Thor's exile on Midgard. The next chapter will hopefully be posted in the next couple of days.   
> Thanks for reading!   
> Violet Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of a (hopefully long) saga about the Avengers, interwoven throughout the MCU. Please request topics for me to touch on! I'd love to hear from you guys.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought :)
> 
> Love,
> 
> Violet Sky


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